A New Life Begun
by Fae Lycan
Summary: How much time has passed since the transformation started? How many moons? How many deaths? How much blood? How much more of this can I take? Part Two of "Morning Come" Trilogy


_6 months, 3 weeks, 5 days._

Sweat broke out in tiny beads all across her forehead.

 _6 months, 3 weeks, 5 days._

Shots of electricity coursed throughout her nerves, constricting the muscles and quickening her heart.

 _6 months, 3 weeks, 5 days._

Ragged gasps escaped as her body contorted in spasms. Hands grasped at nothing as she tried to drag herself across the floor to anywhere. It didn't matter where as long as the pain that ripped through her body would just stop!

 _6 months, 3 weeks, 5 days._

Tears leaked out leaving wet tracks on her cheeks, and she finally relented and gave up as she always did. One final spasm caused her back to arch painfully once more before throwing her head back towards the heavens, her yellow eyes looking up in anguish before closing as the rest of the transformation happened.

 _6 months, 3 weeks, 5 days._

High-pitched whimpers filled the room, and Sam came over as he always did after this part to nuzzle her face, offering comfort in his own way. She nosed him back before staggering to an upright position. Her eyes glinted in the darkened room, taking in the destruction yet again. Growling fiercely she stormed over to the window and tore the curtains aside, dislodging the curtain rod as well as a few wood splinters. Again.

The waxen moon's glow poured into the room as if to mock her yet again, and the pupils of her eyes narrowed to slits. Sounds amplified, the color spectrums of the night more intense, and it wasn't long until a long, mournful call pierced the air.

She resisted the urge to leave as more calls answered the first, not wanting to leave her safe haven. Yet she knew she could only ignore them for so long before they would come and retrieve her themselves and stalked over to the door.

Sam made to follow her as she wrenched the door open, but she raised a hand, effectively stopping him in his tracks. A soft cry rose from his throat in protest, but he sat back down on his haunches. One more glance in his direction made it clear to him that he was going to stay put and wait until she came back.

Again.

Her thoughts echoed what was so plaintively obvious in her faithful friend's eyes.

 _I'm sorry; this isn't what I want either._

She emerged from the dark recess of her house into the glittering moonlight. Her nose detected the scents of the others just north of here, and she lowered to all fours before pushing off into a powerful sprint until she was deep within the forest. Eyes darting to the left, she saw the larger, darker form of Leod coming up on her flank.

Barring her teeth, she snapped at him when he came a little too close for comfort. Leod snorted in derision before motioning his head to the right. The glow of a campfire could barely be seen through the dense brush, and it wouldn't be long until she and the others would slink through the edge of the forest into the highlands where an unfortunate group of campers had hunkered down for the night.

She always hated this part, and no matter how horrible she felt for not being able to ignore the urges, she knew that it was going to be even worse for those that made the horrible decision to come to these parts on a night like this – not that they would know any better. Her thoughts soured causing a bitter taste in her mouth.

 _Then again, it really was the wrong time of the month._

* * *

 _2 years, 5 months, 7 days._

The carnage was something she could never get over; the bloodlust was even worse. That metallic, bitter taste forever invaded her senses and coated everything around her.

 _2 years, 5 months, 7 days._

Her camera lay practically forgotten in the back room of her house. What use was it for her now? And besides, she had gotten sick of Leod following her around whenever she tried to do any type of outdoor photography. Even small observations were out of the question! Hadn't he gotten it by now that she cursed his very existence and wanted nothing more to do with him?

 _2 years, 5 months, 7 days._

She tried ending it all a few times. Each time was a total and utter failure as she would watch her skin knit back together, leaving shiny pink scars that appeared to mock her. It was rather laughable, and that invaded all the dark thoughts that she tried in vain to keep buried deep within the depths of her subconscious. Yet they still managed to bubble up, resentment and anger churning within her stomach and causing her throat to tighten. She did not ask for this!

She may love the seclusion of the outdoors and could (and had a few times) get lost for days just taking in the sights and smells of the surrounding nature, but all that seemed hollow and meaningless to her now. She just wanted to go back to the way things were before this all happened, before she knew there was a perfectly imperfect color between indigo and violet.

* * *

 _5 years, 2 months, 6 Days_

Damn him! Damn them all!

She continued to run even though her sides were convulsing with exhaustion.

Those rotten, no good…she couldn't even finish the thought.

Eventually her legs gave way and she collapsed to the ground, panting hard from her exertions. She eventually curled up underneath a haven of branches from tree that looked like it was about to fall over any minute. Perhaps it would fall and crush her – she had crumbled down on the inside over the years, her outward physique might as well match. She continued to lay there under the tree, numb to the sensation of her limbs as they shortened and the joints bent back into their normal position. The air caused goose-bumps to erupt as fur melted back into her skin, until it was just her laying in a fetal position.

 _One with nature indeed; well, she got what she wanted, right?_ She thought darkly. She could have almost chuckled at the irony, but she was too exhausted to fully care. Sleep eventually crept up and took over, and she resigned herself to nightmares full of carnage and blood of her own design.

She awoke fairly early, the predawn light a muted grey. She sat up, drawing her knees in close thinking back to the previous evening. Leod (again) tried to win her affections and a well-placed smack across his muzzle caused quite a scene. She couldn't help but smirk at the memory of four angry red lines welling up, and oh the howling that had arose! She was actually quite surprised that he hadn't lost an eye – not that she was really aiming for it and would deny it if it was ever brought up.

Anger swirled to the surface again. Why did these people feel that she should be grateful to them? It wasn't like she asked for…well, this! Isolation, sure. Submersing herself deep within nature, definitely. Becoming this horrible, murderous monster? Never. She sniffed loudly trying to quell the tears that were gathering defiantly in her eyes. Her thoughts continued to wander until the sun made its presence just over the treetops and the lonely thought of Sam needing to be feed forced her to her feet. Turning until she was facing to what she believed to be north, she lumbered back in the general direction of her home, trying to work out the stiffness of her limbs and kinks in her joints from last night's activities.

Fall crept into existence like it did every year. The only difference was the people that came and went; mostly coming and never getting the chance to leave again. Sam was still bouncing like always, but without the youthful air of a puppy. She could only guess as to why Sam's energy lasted so long in to what was well past the normal age for dogs. She had lost track of the years as they passed. Was it ten? Twenty? Forty-Five? She neither the will nor the energy to try and calculate the passage of time anymore. Each day bled into the next with little reprieve, and she hadn't even bothered trying to figure out how many moons came and went forcing its supernatural glow upon her form when at its most waxen.

She and the family had fallen into an unspoken, awkward agreement – she wasn't forced to take part in their bloodlust as long as one of them could come and check in on her periodically. She had tried to argue for once a month, but that had fallen on deaf ears and she didn't have the fight left in her to push the issue. Leod (grudgingly) stopped with his advances, but that didn't stop the hungry, borderline predatory look in his eyes whenever it was his turn to call upon her. In a way, she supposed she should be thankful that anyone came to check in on her at all. As messed up as a family dynamic it was, she was still a part of it. The only one she didn't mind dropping by was Martha.

Martha was caring in her own way, never one to force any kind of small talk (if any). She would knock lightly on the door a couple times before letting herself in and marching straight to the kitchen to set the tea kettle on the hardy wood stove to boil. Martha took her tea with two lumps of sugar and more milk than actual tea, and it was a wonder she wasn't more energetic because of the sugary drink. They would sit together in companionable silence outside on the porch when the weather was cooperative enough, and there would be a few times – though rare – that the two women would speak about mundane topics. Martha would take her time with her tea, and once she finished the last dregs, she would take the cup back into the kitchen to wash and hang it back up in its proper place before leaving the cabin altogether without so much as a by your leave.

She had cried in front of Martha one time. Not the gut-wrenching sobs that had been a part of her many emotional outbursts while along with Sam, but the bitter silent kind that you don't even realize is occurring until you discover the salty wetness on your cheeks. She didn't know for how long she had cried or why it even happened, yet there was Martha smoothing back her dark hair, offering her own form of comfort as the tears tracked down her face and neck into the collar of her jacket. Martha said nothing during this episode and had forgone the washing of her teacup that day; perhaps she thought it would be something to help her take her mind off whatever sorrow had enveloped her that day. Whatever the reason, Martha had never mentioned anything regarding this particular visit again.

Despite everything else a comfortable routine had fallen into place. Even if there were still misgivings on her end, she was at least grateful for the times that Martha came to visit. It was the one bit of normalcy in her life aside from Sam and she would soak it up and lock it to memory while she could.

"Of all things dear, my soul, I swear, in death shall not forsake thee." She whispered a line she had said so long ago once more before smiling ruefully to herself and starting another day.


End file.
